Michael Douglas's performance as Liberace is half-hearted, but Matt Damon as Scott Thorson, Liberace's spurned young lover, is simply the best work the Cambridge lad has done in years.

By Al Alexander

The Patriot Ledger, Quincy, MA

By Al Alexander

Posted May. 25, 2013 at 12:01 AM
Updated May 25, 2013 at 8:57 AM

By Al Alexander

Posted May. 25, 2013 at 12:01 AM
Updated May 25, 2013 at 8:57 AM

» Social News

His trademark was the candelabra, but that was about the only thing that held a candle to Liberace. He was the preeminent showman of his time. And his love of flamboyance and spectacle lives on through the likes of Elton John, David Bowie and Lady Gaga.

But you’d never know it witnessing Michael Douglas’ half-hearted portrayal of the Queen of the Keyboard in Steven Soderbergh’s otherwise stupendous “Behind the Candelabra,” debuting Sunday night at 9 on HBO.

Douglas has the hair, the outrageous fashions and the unmistakable swish down pat. But his performance always seems hollow, like he’s doing a skit on “Saturday Night Live,” an impression fortified by the presence of Dan Aykroyd as Liberace’s taciturn manager, Seymour Heller. But then, Douglas isn’t really playing Liberace; he’s playing Liberace as seen through the eyes of his spurned young lover, Scott Thorson. And what Scott sees is pretty ugly – a vain, sex-addicted anti-Semite who eventually honed fame more than virtuosity. Not that Scott was any great shakes, as we keenly observe through Matt Damon’s sure-to-be Emmy-winning performance. It’s simply the best work the Cambridge lad has done in years. And I’m not just saying that because he had the courage to make hot, naked love with Michael Douglas in scenes far more graphic than Damon’s female fans probably care to witness.

No, it’s more the impressive arc his character travels in evolving from a clueless sycophant to a shunned, drug-addicted spouse nearing his expiration date with his ruthless, power-wielding hubby. Like Liberace, Damon hits every note perfectly, tickling your ivories with loads of ironic humor and dramatic outbursts that are intense, yet far from emoting. And to prove he looks great in anything, Damon miraculously pulls off some of the gayest styles ever, whether it’s hideous, chest-baring leisure suits or poufy blonde wigs or lip gloss. Most of the time, he’s simply buck naked, flashing his fabulous backend tan lines. But there’s nothing cheeky about the complexity he brings to a guy you empathize with but never respect. Simply put, Scott Thorson had no talent, little smarts and big cajones when it came to placing demands on the megastar that made him his full-time plaything.

It’s a real education for Scott, a naïve wannabe veterinarian who grew up in foster homes far from his alcoholic mother. But it’s an even bigger edification for us, as Soderbergh makes us privy to the sorts of juicy backstage secrets that rendered showbiz classics like “All About Eve” and “Sunset Boulevard” so tawdry and tantalizing. Credit much of that to screenwriter Richard LaGravenese, who adapts Thorson’s same-titled tell-all into a riveting Shakespearean tale about a young man selling his soul to a piano-playing devil in the months leading up to the AIDS epidemic.

Page 2 of 2 - True, the insights are sparse, but then Liberace was a stickler about keeping everything concealed, especially his sexual orientation. That might be the most haunting aspect of “Behind the Candelabra”: Liberace’s necessity to live a heterosexual lie. And that constant need to disguise the truth finally takes its toll on Scott, the man alleged to have been the love of Liberace’s life. Instead of joy, they build a life of bitterness and distrust, all because Liberace is so afraid of offending his biggest fan base – straight women.

Even his self-obsessed mother, hilariously played by an almost unrecognizable Debbie Reynolds, seems to turn a blind eye to her son’s proclivities when she pops into his bodaciously gay Vegas mansion.

The irony, of course, is that in retrospect, Liberace’s homosexuality was the worst kept secret in the history of surreptitiousness. Ditto for the many wigs and plastic surgeries he relied on to camouflage his advancing years.

Douglas, admirably, never shies from letting his hair (in this case, toupee) down or flashing a flabby gut. He really does give you Liberace, warts and all.

But because the story is told from Scott’s point of view, Douglas is often forced to play Liberace as a user and abuser capable of turning on you at a moment’s notice. Douglas, understandably, latches on to these darker elements because they are instincts he’s cultivated over the years playing slimeballs like Gordon Gekko. It’s the gay aspects where he struggles to be convincing.

That’s not the case with Damon, who disappears so deeply into his role that you completely forget it’s him behind the leather, feathers and silk. You don’t need to like or dislike his version of Scott. You just need to be fascinated by him. And Damon more than delivers the goods.

Same for Rob Lowe, scary good as the unscrupulous plastic surgeon at the ready to give the boss a regular nip and tuck, or rebuild Scott’s face into Liberace’s image. Very creepy, as is Lowe. But the highest kudos are reserved for Soderbergh, who’s managed to take something as hoary as a celebrity biopic and turn it into a magnificent opus composed of bold overtures and brassy melodies – all punctuated by the saddest of codas.